Red
by Kyoyama Daphne
Summary: The darkest shade of every color is black, and the lightest is white. Anna was every shade of red in between.


/a.n./ It's been a while since I last wrote a one-shot in this fandom, huh? I gotta say, I really enjoyed writing this – and I hope you enjoy it too. Also, I'm going to ask you a question. (If I have somehow told you the answer already, please don't answer) How old do you think I am? Anyone who can guess my exact age gets a cookie! Anyways, please review

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**Red**  
.

._  
__People saw her as pure black - a cold of unfathomable depths; an interminable void of hatred and anger. Only if you looked close enough, could you see that she was not black, but a deep burgundy. She was still dark, but the darkness was not one that came over her completely. The light in her - however small at times - was still present; and that was all that really mattered._  
**.**  
Her room was dark, the only source of light a dull one that shone through a small cracked window close to the ceiling. She liked it like that. There wasn't much furniture in her room; never had been, never would be. A tatami mat right under the window, a white armchair with splintered edges and peeling paint in the corner, and an old, stained mirror propped up against the wall.

She didn't like the mirror, she didn't like to indulge in herself. As if there was anything to indulge in. The mirror was plain, bordered by thin strips of wood and scratched in multiple places. She slid her door shut and walked in front of it, tentatively looking at her reflection. An eight year old girl with matted blond hair, sunken cheeks and bruised skin stared back at her. Their eyes locked in the reflective glass. Anna didn't know why, but she hated the girl that stared back with those empty eyes. She was ragged, dirty, ugly, useless. She was a waste of space. She wanted to hit her, she wanted to punch her, she wanted to –

_Crash!_

Her fist came down to meet the cold glass. She wanted to get rid of the girl, she wanted her to be gone forever. The mirror shattered into tiny shards when her fist connected with its smooth surface, fragments of glass scattering at her feet. She felt a couple of them cutting into her arms, then something stung on her cheek. She raised her hand to her face, wincing slightly as the fragment if glass cut it deeper and something warm trickled down her cheek. Looking down at her hand, she saw there was blood - a lot of blood. She could see tiny fragments of glass stuck in her knuckles glinting in the faint light ; she would deal with them later.

She looked up at the mirror again. A small fragment was still stuck to the wooden back panel; resisting to let loose. Her brows knitted together - the girl was staring at her again; this time with something smeared on her face. She aimed a punch at the shard, making it shatter and drop to the ground, adding to the growing pile of broken glass underneath it.  
She looked down at her hand, seeing the blood oozing down her fingers and dripping onto her stained white yukata.

Heaving a breath, she walked over to her tatami mat and plopped down with a thud, wanting to get some sleep. Her eyes fixed on the window on the wall, following the thin strip of light that flooded in. And there she was again, staring at her from the window. The image of the sunken eyed girl had returned, distorted and battered -peering at her as she lay there.

A scream of outrage ripped out from her throat as she clawed at the wall, wanting to break the window like she had broken the mirror; wanting the girl to disappear again. Her breaths were ragged, a sheen of sweat covering her face. She screamed again, not quite as loud as the first one, more choked up. Her hand gripped the edge of the windowsill; and as the glass cut into her hand further she failed to ignore the pain.

Her fingers slipped from the edge and as she collapsed on the floor she realized she was wasted. Looking up at the window again, and saw that she could no longer see the girl. Her head slumped against the wall.

She would deal with the broken glass and the cuts in her hands and face later.  
The important thing was that the horrible girl in the mirror and in the window was gone.

.

_She was carmine red; the color of red wine. Heady, strong, yet somehow still sweet in her own unique way. Bitter to those who weren't used to her, but magnificent to those who understood the small details that made her herself, and cherished them._

.  
He sat on the wooden paneled floor, his back to her. Taking the bandages and antiseptic from the cabinet, she approached him wearily and sat behind him, folding her legs to the side.

"It might sting a little," she said as she twisted the cap off the rubbing alcohol.

"I know."

As she poured a bit of it on a cotton swab, she couldn't help but shift her attention to the wide gash on his back. It had already started to heal, but it was still bad enough to make her feel more than a little queasy. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she leaned closer and touched the cotton swab to the gash. She was close; close enough to see the jagged flesh around the wound, close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of the alcohol, close enough to hear the shuddering breath that left his lips when she pressed the swab into the gash.

"Don't be a child. It's just rubbing alcohol." She said as she swept the swab over multiple small cuts over his shoulders.

"It..h-hurts.." he rasped.

"I know. Now turn around."

He complied wordlessly, teeth gnashed together to suppress his cries. She poured more alcohol onto the swab and pressed it onto any other wounds she saw. None of them were quite as bad as the one on his back, to her relief.

"It's easier to just wrap your whole torso instead of trying to get to all the little cuts," she mused as she screwed the cap back on.

"O-okay."

"Yoh, you've been in worse states."

He didn't answer, so she didn't push him on it. Instead; she placed the edge of the bandage on his back and wrapped it around once, twice, thrice. She was close again; close enough to see the little cuts scattered around his chest, close enough to realize that he was holding his breath, close enough to hear his heartbeat and close enough to hear that it was faster than normal.

She wrapped the bandage around his torso, moving it in different angles as needed, working with quick deft hands. He sat there in silence, not a single sound escaping his lips.

"Done." She said, pushing herself back to get a better look. She leaned in again, tucking in a stray piece of gauze before standing up and dusting off her hands.

"You're good to go, Yoh."

He had been smiling when she left the room.

_She was auburn, soft yet intimidating. Aggressive from a far, but beautiful up front. A rare sight, a rare mentality, but one that seemed so different to people that they shied away. Warm, on the verge of burning.__  
_.  
She sat in front of the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself. December had brought even colder days, and with the heater broken at the inn; they had resorted to fire again.

Despite the cold, she felt peaceful for the first time in a long time. The inn was empty except for its usual rightful inhabitants – Yoh and her - and since Yoh had decided to be a good fiancé and leave her alone, she had had the opportunity to catch some quiet time. The flames warmed her pretty well, but not quite enough to keep her completely pleasant, to her dismay.

Footsteps; she could hear footsteps. Groaning, she craned her neck to look at the doorway. There he stood, wearing sweatpants and a sweater; visibly shivering.

"C-c-cold today; h-huh An-na?"

"Yes it is."

He trotted over to the fireplace and sat right next to her, crossing his legs and mimicking her in the way his arms were wrapped around himself.

"Want a blank-k-ket, Anna? I think we're sup-p-posed to have one in the cabinet by the door." He asked, leaning against the foot of the sofa.

"No, I'm not cold,"

"You sure?"

"I said I'm not cold." She snapped indignantly. He nodded, and turned his head towards the fire. Minutes ticked by in comfortable silence as they both stared straight ahead. Only when a muffled snore interrupted the silence, did she awake from her dazed state. She leaned over and looked at his face – his sleeping face. Arms still tightly wrapped around himself, legs pulled up to his chest; he resembled a ball.

She got up ever so slowly and approached the door. The cold floorboards froze her feet through her thick woolen socks as she made her way to the hall. The cabinet stood at the corner, shrouded by shadows. Opening it with a creek, she rummaged for a minute or two, then pulled out a thick gray blanket.

Yoh was still asleep when she re-entered the room, still resembling a ball, only with spikey brown hair. She walked over to him, careful not to make too much sound, and spread the blanket over him before sitting down again.

.  
_She was crimson, the color of blood. The color that gave life, but also the color humanity was afraid of seeing. She wore crimson around her head like a sign, like a crown that symbolized two sides: and you could choose which one you would like to see. More importantly, _she_ could choose which side she would _let_ you see._

He awoke from his sleep with a light _rap_. The shojo door slid open as he rubbed his eyes and squinted to get a better look.

"Anna?"

"Who else?" she replied, her tone laced with mockery.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping, if you'd be so kind and shut up." she snapped. For a moment he was too shocked to even reply.

"You're sleeping in my room tonight?"

"No, I'm thinking of drilling a hole in your wall to get to mine."

She approached the bed nonchalantly and slid in, pulling the covers up to her chin. He was still dazed by her boldness. But of course, he understood. She did this sometimes – hid behind sarcasm and mockery to distract people from what was really going on. Tentatively, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She didn't complain, nor did she show any signs of contentment.

Her hand lay sprawled on his chest, having nowhere else to go from their close contact. She hadn't moved since she had first lay down. He hadn't moved much either, afraid that he would disrupt her comfort and that she would leave.

She shifted slightly after a while, moving her head so that it rested on his chest. He placed a fleeting kiss on her forehead as he stroked her golden hair, listening to her breath halt for a moment.

Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, drawing patterns to his temples, then back to his jawline; memorizing every inch of his face.

Sometimes, sometimes he though that she was more than just ice.

.

_The lightest shade of red before it transformed into orange; heated, bursting with energy, but still contained. She was a flame - a savior, and an enemy. The world interpreted fire in different ways - some said it was destructive, some said it was a source of life. And then there was a conclusion that seldom anybody managed to reach: it was both. Because in the mind's eye of the narrow-minded people of the word, everything was black and white, and nothing could have more than one answer. The probability scared them; it made them turned against the people with wider visions. Anna was a fire of both qualities, so they turned against her, too._

He held her close, the closest any two people could ever be. He knew that she was afraid he would let go, would give up – he also knew that he wouldn't ever prove her fears right. Never.

Her breaths were short and heavy, sometimes nonexistent. When he looked at her, he looked at her adoringly, reverently. Eyes closed, face flushed, hair a little rumpled; she looked simply beautiful. Oh how her mask had shattered with the years, taking away haunted memories with them. Not all of them though, he knew. Some still lingered – and he had no way of knowing if she would wake up smiling, or screaming

He wished that if latter happened, he could make the screams subside.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing their faces close again. He could feel her breaths on his lips, warm and inviting. He could feel the heat radiating off her body in shuddering waves.

This was a different Anna, one that only he was permitted to see. One that _him _and _only _him would ever be permitted to see.

.

_The color of anger, the color of hate, the color of love and the color of lust - she was red._

_._


End file.
